


When The Moonflowers Grow

by FunkyinFishnet



Series: Perchance To Dream [2]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Death, Developing Relationship, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Identity, M/M, Male Slash, Prophecy, Prophetic Dreams, Prophets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 17:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nasir has always known his path. But he never expected to find himself living in a temple, assisting a prophet. He never expected to fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Moonflowers Grow

 

 

Nasir had visited many temples with his master. Pullo had liked to buy favours from the gods; he'd believed it was the only manner in which anything in life was achieved. He was a man who liked to own all within his grasp, and much beyond it. Nasir had known no different, from a young age he had been admired and told that he would be valued. Pullo had expected his presence nightly and Nasir had expected to be there.

 

  
He had known that his life would change once Pullo was married; his previous wife had died some time before and Crissia would provide the influence and stature that Pullo desired. Her eyes had been decisive and cool and she had dismissed Nasir as soon as she had taken note of him. Whatever her husband had desired, she would be in charge of arranging it now.

 

  
So Nasir had expected change, he had not expected to be possessed by a prophet. Sibyl, pretty and pale with haunted eyes, had matter-of-factly asked for him and had layered tempting outcomes for Pullo in exchange. Pullo released Nasir to her with only a single glance of goodbye. Chadara looked at him pityingly as she hurried after her master. No matter what Crissia decided, Chadara would survive, she was good at that.

 

  
Sibyl looked happy and relieved and told Nasir that he was welcome and that he was home. There was a man at her side who had not stopped staring at Nasir since Pullo’s entrance. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with ugly scars upon his chest and the most intense eyes. He was beautiful, in a most unexpected way. Nasir found himself staring back, though only for a moment. The man likely warmed the prophet’s bed.

 

  
“Come and eat.”

 

  
Sibyl led him to bowls of good thick broth and hunks of soft bread. She ate with him, surprisingly, and told him about dreams the gods had sent her, how she’d met a thief who'd become her close companion, of the other temple prophet Sura and her two bodyguards. She told Nasir that he too could have a place at her side, that he could be trained to use weapons and to learn the manners that were wielded also.

 

  
Nasir stared at her, shocked and curious. This girl held weight and responsibility with astonishing ease, though she claimed to rely on the armed man for support. And she believed Nasir could help?

 

  
“We all carry weight,” Sibyl said quietly, as though Nasir’s thoughts were clear to her. “Together, such a task is lighter.”

 

  
Nasir followed her to a back courtyard where two women were exchanging sword blows. Sibyl left him there, venturing back inside to sit with an older dark-haired woman who had similarly haunted eyes. The other prophet then, Sura, whose gaze was knowing and contented when it fell upon Nasir. The secrets she held were not to be known, only delivered to those that needed them. Nasir dipped his head in reverence and turned his attention back to the sparring.

 

  
The armed man stood beside him. “What name should I call you?”

 

  
“Tiberius.”

 

  
The answer was automatic; it had been his name for almost as long as he could remember. But the armed man’s face wrinkled in disbelief.

 

  
“It does not suit you. I am Agron.”

 

  
Agron. His name was clearly his own. Nasir nodded and allowed Agron to push a blade into his hand’s grip and to begin teaching him how to stand and how to use the weapon to purpose. The women were introduced as Saxa and Mira, Sura’s bodyguards. They moved with grace and fierceness and utter devotion, to their movements and to each other.

 

  
“I can teach you the bow,” Mira told him. “If you wish to learn it.”

 

  
Nasir could only nod his thanks. He had been told – no, asked – to learn about weaponry, how to use it and how to keep Sibyl safe. Sibyl believed him a boon from the gods, viewing him as she viewed Agron. Nasir watched the taller man spar with Saxa, how they both fought hard and their spirits lifted as a consequence. It was so strange and compelling.

 

  
“A fine display,” Mira voiced his thoughts, her own eyes bright as she watched. “And a blessing indeed.”

 

  
Nasir could only nod as he watched Agron move, determined and aggressive. Would he ever move in such a way? His new way of life seemed to demand it.

 

  
“It is strange at first,” Mira confided quietly, her eyes soft now as she regarded him. “I was a girl of a different temple, until it was destroyed. I came here looking for answers and purpose and found Sura and Saxa.”

 

  
And they were her answers, Nasir gleaned. He looked at Agron, a strange shining beacon that drew Nasir’s attention, and thought _what sort of answer are you?_

 

  
*

 

  
There were three simply-dressed pallets in Sibyl’s small room. She changed into a thin cotton dress, no seduction or expectation in the movement, and lay on the middle pallet. She smiled tiredly at Nasir and gestured for him to lie down too.

 

  
When he did, her words were soft and insistent in the dim light. “I expect nothing from you but your company, I swear on the stones of this temple.”

 

  
Agron lay on Sibyl's other side, touching a hand to her arm before turning over to find sleep. They were more akin to siblings; Nasir saw, his vision of them clearer now, survivors clinging to what good they had found in this world.

 

  
He listened to their breathing and thought of Chadara and what she would be doing now. Crissia would arrive soon, what route would Chadara battle towards then? But that was not Nasir’s life anymore, those problems not his to solve. He had to learn the patterns and pathways of this strange new existence instead, where prophets and lovers rejoiced amid simple surroundings and pilgrims’ pain. There appeared to be an entirely different set of expectations. And Sibyl believed there was a place here for him, that there was happiness foretold.

 

  
He slept fitfully and the next day dressed in the colours presented to him. He watched as Sibyl worked, as tremors wracked her body and caused her to cry out, as Agron was able to ground her and dismiss pilgrims the moment it seemed that she would be overwhelmed. Hour after hour, Nasir watched and learned and felt Agron’s hot gaze. It caused his heart to stutter and his mouth to dry, in a way that Pullo's presence never had. Sura smiled at him but did not speak. Was this the work of the gods?

 

  
Sibyl rested a gentle hand on his arm, a gesture which did not ask for anything. “The paths ahead are your choice; know only that we are with you.”

 

  
She never uttered his name, neither the one he had proclaimed nor the one that he kept hidden beneath his skin. Nasir had the inkling that she knew both. There was no differing motive under her smile though, she simply smiled, glad to be with him, no matter the name he chose. Agron looked at Nasir with such desire but he did not lay a hand on him with anything but friendship. Nasir felt adrift, unsure where to place his feet in this new world.

 

  
He silently said prayers of his own.

 

  
*

 

  
During the sisterhood's prayers one late morning, a wounded woman was half-carried into the temple, her friends desperate and weeping. She was not long for this world, a healer too far away to help, so she wished to find peace before entering the next life. Mira immediately helped lie the woman down on a blanket, Sura and Sibyl disappearing to make preparations.

 

  
Agron stayed at Nasir's side, their arms brushing against each other. Such contact drew Nasir closer, hungry for more of the strange warmth and stirring that it set off inside him.

 

  
“If only prayers were as bandages to the wounded.”

 

  
Agron looked and sounded haunted and bitter, and Nasir wondered who the other man thought of in such moments. He wondered if one day he would ask.

 

  
Sura and Sibyl returned, clad in pale silver dresses and their hands full of moonflowers. Saxa was a step behind, a handful of flowers woven around a strap of her clothing. She tucked a slender flower in bud behind Mira's ear. Mira's smile was brief but grateful and warm as she attempted to make the wounded woman comfortable.

 

  
Along with several of the sisters, the two prophets knelt at the woman's side, Sibyl clasped her hand and Sura brushed tendrils of dark hair from the woman's forehead. They both looked sad but composed. A great many close to death were brought to temples. If a healer could not be found, then a temple was the only hope remaining. The sisterhood had to be well-versed in shepherding spirits into the next life.

 

  
Whatever Sibyl and Sura were murmuring, it was only for the woman's ears. She looked scared but nodded and something softened in her eyes. Her friends shuffled away without prompting, apparently knowing that the next step did not require them. Nasir was transfixed. Sibyl and Sura's lips moved in prayer, and the sisters who filled the temple dropped their heads, moonflowers clasped in their hands and the same words on their lips. Agron swallowed hard, something straining under his skin. Nasir pressed closer, wishing to wipe such tension away. Seeing Agron so hurt made his chest ache. Agron pressed back hungrily.

 

  
Then just as suddenly as they had started, the prayers stopped, and weeping began in earnest among the woman's friends. The sisters descended upon the body, taking care to tuck flowers into her clothing as a blanket was wrapped around her, becoming a shroud. One of the sisters instructed the temple guards to construct a pyre. Sibyl got to her feet, her clothing dusted with flowers, and walked quickly to Agron's side.

 

  
Her breathing was shallow, as though she had run a great distance, and she must have caught Nasir's gaze lingering on the blossoms because she plucked one free and handed it to him. “Moonflowers remember. It is said that the gods themselves whispered secrets into the petals. The flowers will remember our stories when we are long beyond this life.”

 

  
Nasir slipped the flower into the band of his breeches. He wondered what memory he would leave behind. He wondered why Agron did not touch the flowers.

 

  
He often pressed his arm to Agron's when they stood together, watching as Sibyl talked to the wealthy and the desperate. It was a sharing of warmth and solace. There were different hidden meanings here, meanings that Sura and Sibyl divined and shared in many varied ways. Nasir watched Mira and Saxa working as hands and feet for Sura, as her support and care. Sura asked only for their help, and they gave it.

 

  
But they also had to watch as Sura suffered painful visions and dreams, as she heard things that they never would. They could only do so much for her.

 

  
“But without us, it would be worse,” Saxa told him as she thrust a knife towards him and Nasir was forced to block the blow.

 

  
That was the only truth that mattered, to her and Mira.

 

  
Nasir's heart twinged when witnessing a shaking Sibyl. He had been torn from sleep by the sound of her tears and screams, and watched with quickening heart as Agron whispered comforting words, laced with an ever-present anger at the gods. Sibyl never seemed upset at Agron's attitude; she only smiled sadly, her expression matching the pain in his eyes. Nasir's heart trembled for them both.

 

  
When a servant of a rich trader gave away his master's true intentions through the scattering of his gaze, Nasir shifted his own feet, communicating this revelation to Sibyl. It was part of the game of manners she had told him about, it was something Nasir could speak fluently. Agron looked at him with wide interested eyes and smiled almost wickedly once he and Nasir were alone.

 

  
“Clever strategy, Tiberius.”

 

  
Nasir responded with a smaller smile of his own, words spilling forth that he could contain no longer. “Nasir. My brother called me Nasir.”

 

  
Agron's stunned expression and his hand to Nasir's arm, warm and filled with gratitude, was a welcome balm. Nasir understood so much more now.

 

  
*

 

  
Whatever was happening between Nasir and Agron, it was slow and gentle. They ate together and spoke when time allowed it, under the courtyard's fruit trees or upon the temple steps. Sibyl smiled to see their hands briefly touch. No one in the temple chided them or looked with disapproval. Such things were apparently expected, when the gods were involved.

 

  
“Do not fuck in the temple if you value life,” Saxa warned, tossing a piece of fruit towards Mira, who caught it easily and bit into its shiny flesh.

 

  
“Because the gods do not approve?” Nasir laughed a little, because he had seen how Saxa and Mira coupled in the courtyard.

 

  
“Because the gods have fucking sense of humour,” Saxa replied ominously, stabbing at a hunk of meat with particular viciousness. “Always, there are lit candles.”

 

  
Ah. Nasir caught sight of Mira's lips twitching in amusement. The connection between the two was easy and fluid, often words were unneeded. Yet they chose to stay at Sura's side. Nasir glanced towards Agron. He could comprehend their choice.

 

  
He felt Agron's eyes on him as he learned the bow, Mira standing behind him and teaching him position and stance, her words firm but encouraging. She was a good teacher, as was Saxa, and Nasir was a quick learner, with bow, staff, and sword. It all felt more natural than Nasir had ever thought possible, it felt strong. Agron's desire seemed only to increase as he watched Nasir's effort and progress. Nasir met his gaze with heat of his own.

 

  
He moved closer now when Sibyl awoke with cries on her lips and words that made Agron tense. Nasir rested warm comforting hands on Sibyl and her expression thanked him. What did she dream of? Whatever it was, Agron seemed deeply cut by it.

 

  
“I find myself wishing to tear apart her dreams,” Nasir told Agron, as they ate and greeted the morning sun together. “Do they always pain her so?”

 

  
Agron nodded, chewing on bread with a face like thunder, his knee pressed to Nasir's. He stared off towards something unseen as he spoke. “She dreams...many nights, when cries awake us, she dreams of my brother.”

 

  
Nasir heard the pain in Agron's voice, and pressed closer, listening as Agron spoke of Duro, the brother who had taken a sword blow for him and died in his arms, how Sibyl dreamt of this often and cried because Duro had died and she could not save him.

 

  
“She did not know him, but she mourns.”

 

  
Nasir nodded; to have another beside you who grieved as you did, that was a gift.

 

  
“It is not a fucking blessing, how the gods whisper to her,” Agron said, harsh with anger. “It brings pain and misery, visions of so many she cannot help. It is fucking torture.”

 

  
Nasir lifted a hand and brushed wondering caring fingers against Agron's cheek, pausing to cup his jaw with soft pressure. The rasp of stubble felt strange, yet he wanted more. Agron's eyes were intent on him, his body and anger suddenly so still. Nasir’s heart shuddered; he had done that to Agron. How much could they do for each other, for Sibyl?

 

  
“So you stay,” he said softly, at last breaking the silence that had bound them.

 

  
Agron nodded slowly as though mesmerised. “I stay.”

 

  
Nasir had moonflowers in his pocket; he crushed the petals in his palm. “So do I.”

 

  
 _-the end_


End file.
